Extrication
by Meagzie
Summary: A trail of events post Graduation told from different points of view, following into the next generation.
1. Chapter One

Chapter One: "... swallowed up in the sound of my screaming..."  
  
Liz's POV  
  
I once saw this television special about the Chinese and their traditions. I found it endearing how much they appreciated their loved ones after death. They believed that dying was never the end of life, but merely a continuation – or rather, a cycle – that recurred after each generation. To honour the deceased they would burn paper money to ensure a wealthy and comfortable afterlife.  
  
Watching that special has always stayed with me, especially as specific events began to overtake my life. Since Max's death, I can't help but wonder if there even is an afterlife. And if there is, is it for you exclusively or do members of your first life join you when their time comes? Was Michael laughing it up with Max in the next world, mocking the mess I've made of my life?  
  
Not that he wouldn't have every right to. It was true. I was and still am a complete mess of a person.  
  
I'm partial to entertaining fantasies of what could have been - what should have been - if fate had played on my team. As I pack cartons of milk and containers of yogurt into crinkly plastic grocery bags, I tend to contemplate the modest life that I had once believed possible. I was no longer looking for the white picket fence – any life must transcend the hell I'm going through.  
  
At a barely ripe age of forty-three, I truly have nothing to show for my ungodly life. A job as a grocery bagger, a suspended driver's license, a criminal record, and the deaths of my loved ones stained on my hands. This is what my life has boiled down to – and yet here I am returning to work each day, punctual with enthusiasm.  
  
Some mornings I believe I have a duty to reimburse those lying six feet under by trying to suffer through each day and attempt to attain the dreams we had shared years before. Although by the time I'm packing my sixty- seventh bag of groceries, I've thrown these thoughts out the window and down eighty floors.  
  
There is no justice in grocery bagging, I can tell you that with certainty. I smile to customers and obey orders given to me. I hoist wholesale packs of Coca Cola into customer's vehicles. I never take a minute past the end of my break time. I'm the perfect employee. But at the end of the day, it's still the same. I'm still the same.  
  
My apartment is all I have left to call home. Every night at precisely forty minutes past six, I open the door with trepidation – as if Kal will be waiting for me, reprimanding me for this pitiful existence. Or maybe Max will be sitting on my cheap plastic furniture, with cold, concentrated disappointment. The person I most fear waiting for me is Michael though – his eyes crimson with a blend of hurt and rage, condemning me to an even lengthier sentence of this guilt and self-loathing.  
  
Yet every night when I swing my apartment door open, no one is waiting for me. And perhaps that is a far worse fate.  
  
Guilt is a funny thing, you see. It's invisible, much like happiness or sadness. You can't touch it, you can't see it, and you can't taste it. But you can feel it – you can feel it all through your bones. It's like instant stimulation to each nerve, jumping with anxiety. Sometimes I can distract myself long enough to take a deep breath, but it returns to me all the same.  
  
There are nights when I wake up – or even nights when I don't sleep at all – and I reach for my telephone. The first few times I dialed the number, I would hang up after the recorded message began. Eventually my nights became so loud with silence that I would dial her cellular number over and over again, just to listen to another voice over the receiver.  
  
After a week I had listened to the message so many times that I could recite the entire recording in the same pitch.  
  
"I'm sorry but the number you've dialed is no longer in service..."  
  
There were days when I never even knew a life like this existed. Days when I thought my biggest enemies were outer galactic forces coming to tear Max and I apart. It's taken many long, lonely nights to realize that the only enemy that exists is myself. No one quite knows you like you know yourself. So I theorized that no one could quite destroy yourself as ultimately as you could.  
  
The funny thing about all this is that every time I had dialed the same number, I still expected Maria to pick up on the other end. Even after witnessing her death with my very own eyes, I anticipate hearing her voice answer my phone call.  
  
I never meant to hurt her. It's been said time and time before, that the intention was never there but I suppose the ending is still the same. I had ruined Maria and Anne's lives – her death could be blamed on no one else but myself.  
  
I had taken to the drink quite heavily for years after Max and Michael's deaths. I'd wake to a nice glass of scotch each morning, settle into the afternoon with a mix of rum and coke, then curl into bed with a few shots of straight vodka. For the first few months, I spent most of the in-between time next to the porcelain goddess but you'd be surprised how quickly you adjust.  
  
Maria never needed the bottle like I did. She pulled herself from her grief when she realized that inside her womb was Michael's child. Unfortunately, Max never left such a gift for me. And I suppose it's better that way.  
  
She watched my deterioration from the first day, and to be quite frank, I'm surprised Maria didn't attempt to simply slap me out of my misery. No, she constantly coddled me, taking care of me every time I was fired until there were no more employers to be found. She calmed me when rage would possess my entire body, when all I could feel was frustration with my life. Though we never discussed anything more than my trek from toilet to bed, I suspect her reasoning was guilt – guilt that my husband had chosen Michael's over mine.  
  
Despite Anne's birth nearly six weeks after Michael's death, Maria continued to indulge me as if I were her own up until the day she passed away. Nights when my drunken screaming overlapped Anne's cries, Maria would tend to me first.  
  
On Anne's seventh birthday, I had been having a particularly awful day. After being fired from yet another job and having my last three dollars stolen, I went tumbling off the bandwagon for the twenty-sixth time.  
  
"C'mon, Liz, lets get you home."  
  
I stumbled, letting out a roaring laugh. "Home? I have no home! My home is buried six feet underground." Keeping a sturdy grip on my bottle of Smirnoff, I shrugged my shoulders. "Then again, maybe I have no home at all. Because, lets admit it, my so-called home of a husband chose Michael over me." I laughed outrageously. "And look where that landed him!"  
  
Rain fell off her shoulders as Maria shook her head, sighing. "Liz, you are so drunk that you don't even know what you're talking about. Just give me the keys, and we'll go back to the apartment." She lunged for them, but in my drunken haze, I pushed her away as we collided. Maria reeled back, falling on her rear.  
  
"No! I want to talk." Gaining my baby voice, I whimpered. "Lets talk, Maria, like we used to." I grinned foolishly. "We used to talk about boys and school. I miss that."  
  
Taking a deep breath, Maria stood up and brushed herself off. "Fine," she replied with irritation, "we can talk. But only if we go home."  
  
"I used to be so smart!" Ignoring her demand, I twirled in the middle of the empty lot. My eyes twinkled and I gazed at her. "Do you remember when I used to be so smart?"  
  
"Liz, you still are." Maria approached me slowly. "Now prove to me that you're still smart and give me the keys. We're standing in the middle of an empty parking lot outside a bar. This is no way to spend our night. Anne's waiting for us." She gave me her motherly smile. "Doesn't a warm cup of milk and a cozy blanket sound nice? This rain is doing nothing for us. C'mon, lets go."  
  
"No way," I slurred. "Not that easy!" I pranced delightfully to the music in my head. My voice gaining volume, I pondered out loud, "I wonder why Max chose Michael. Maybe the sex wasn't good enough." I stopped, beginning to pout. "I miss sex."  
  
"Liz!" Maria's voice was losing its patience. "Give me the damn keys." When I refused, she continued, "It wasn't the sex, Liz. I don't know why, you don't know why, no one knows why. The only thing we can do now is go home and move on."  
  
"I stood right there, Maria," I said to her. "The agents had a gun pointed at both Michael and I. Max looked at both of us... and..." I started to cry, my tears melting with the rain. "He just – he just threw up his shield in front of Michael. Max knew they were going to kill him regardless. And that they were willing to kill the rest of us." I shook my head.  
  
"Liz, things were happening so fast, nothing could have been -"  
  
"No! That's not true! Something could have been done! Maybe if he had tried to save me, Michael could have fired at the agent. Or something! Anything!" I threw my hands above me, splashing vodka on my cheeks. "Max tried to save Michael's life. And not mine."  
  
"And look where it fucking got them!" Maria screeched at me. "They're both fucking dead! The FBI agents shot Max clear in the head, Michael took a shot to save us, and they both ended up dead. It doesn't make a goddamn difference. They're both dead, Liz! THEY'RE DEAD." Grabbing me by the shoulders, she began to shake me. "Get over it, Liz! You need to get over it! Stop wasting your life." Tears splashed down her face. "Keep a job for once. Stop drinking. Just move on and live your fucking life. You're alive and they're not. Move on."  
  
Shocked at her language, I started screaming with rage for the world. No words, just long vowels of anger at my seemingly cruel fate. I ran for the car door and slipped in before she could catch me. Locking the doors, I slammed the keys into the ignition and began driving around the parking lot. Gaining drunken courage, I accelerated quickly and started to drive in circles around Maria.  
  
"Liz, stop!" She screamed through the rain. "Stop the fucking car!"  
  
And those were her last words.  
  
Deciding to slam on the brakes, the wheels continued to spin and slid towards Maria's direction. Before I recognized the crushing sound of Maria's body hitting the hood of the car, I stumbled out the door.  
  
"Maria, no!"  
  
Cradling Maria's body in my arms, I screamed obscenities into the dark night. Her blood soaked through my jacket, diluted by the rain. I had never meant for this to happen. I never wanted to lose Maria too. I couldn't. But the way her neck was resting terrified me, and I had a horrible suspicion that only one of us was leaving alive.  
  
How I wish it hadn't been me.  
  
Rocking back and forth, I heard footsteps approaching behind me.  
  
There stood Kal Langley. I stared at him with lost eyes, clutching Maria closer to my body. Kal stood before me with a disapproving glare. "What the hell have you done now?" he yelled. "Getting yourself into more shit than you can handle, that's for sure." Shaking his head, he waved me away. "Get out of here. You're useless to me now."  
  
I stared at him with dumbfounded shock. There was no denying who he was with his condescending tone. A man I had heard stories of but never met, and here he was, either saving or destroying me. "I don't understand," I whimpered to him. "I didn't mean -"  
  
"I don't care," Kal replied. "I thought you'd kill yourself long before now – long before killing Michael's girl. I've been keeping an eye on you and now you've gone and made a mess. I'm doing you a favour. Consider this my last and only one. Don't fuck up again." Pushing me aside, he placed one hand on Maria's body. Suddenly the molecules of her body split, and exploded before my eyes – like a firework erupting into tiny fragments.  
  
"Get out of here," he tossed over his shoulder. Before I could blink my eyes, he had gone back to where he had come from – oblivion.  
  
After realizing that Maria was really gone, I stumbled back into the vehicle and drove home. Still impaired, I was stopped by police and detained. I found it oddly humorous that I was apprehended on the basis of dangerous driving under the influence of alcohol – after already murdering my best friend. If only they knew.  
  
Neighbours found Anne the next morning. At five o'clock in the morning, she allegedly ran outside and began screaming Maria's name. Although I'm not completely certain, I suspect that she felt the loss of her mother. An alien connection, I suppose.  
  
Anne was taken in by child services.  
  
For weeks after Maria's "disappearance", I was questioned repeatedly. Where was Maria? Why did I have her car that evening? Was Maria with me that night? Where had she been earlier that day?  
  
Have you ever noticed that once you spout your first lie, the rest flows naturally from your lips? I hadn't seen her that night or any night since. I didn't know where she was. I had her car that evening because I was a drunken slob needing a way to the bar. As far as I knew, she had been working earlier that day. I even suggested that there was a gentleman at her workplace with whom she was having sexual relations with. I sounded as pathetic as they thought I was, and it worked.  
  
Without a trace of solid evidence, I was allowed to walk away from the entire situation. I was told not to see or talk to Anne again by children's services. I wasn't surprised nor was I distressed. What good could I bring her? And besides, what would I say to her?  
  
"Hey, I'm sorry about killing your mom. Don't tell anyone, okay?"  
  
Yeah, right.  
  
I tried to stay sober after that. I really did. But after so many years of using alcohol to escape my reality, it felt too difficult to give up the drink. I wanted it – I needed it. I needed that extra push in the morning, and like a bedtime story for a child, I couldn't sleep without a drink.  
  
So my drinking continued until I was caught once again with impaired drinking. This time I was slapped with a larger fine, my driver's license was suspended for two years, and I had to attend mandatory Alcoholic Anonymous meetings. I quite literally had nothing in my life left. I was being evicted from the apartment Maria, Anne, and I had lived in. I had no job to speak of. And I had just been caught drinking and driving again.  
  
By court order and whatever will power I had left, I quit drinking and acquired a job. Of course, with my record and lack of education, the only available job was grocery bagging. So that is where I am now. I suppose my self pity should be unheard of – I'm the only one to blame for how my life turned out. I'm the one who got myself here.  
  
Sometimes I wonder where it all went wrong: Max and Michael's death? Anne's birth? Departing Roswell after graduation? Maybe when Max healed me? Or perhaps, the problem was being born at all.  
  
When I was younger, I would have never imagined my life turning out this way. I was a perfectionist and it gained me the respect of friends, teachers, and adults alike. I was intelligent yet fun. I was creative yet logical. I was well balanced. People even told me so, praising me for all of my accomplishments.  
  
Where did I go wrong?  
  
Then again, the world is a completely different place outside of high school. For a perfectionist like I used to be, the one thing that always pushed me to go higher was that people expected me to. But outside of high school – well, no one cares. No one cares if you can write an amazing essay on Shakespeare's Hamlet. No one cares if you can reiterate the periodic table without pausing. No one cares if you were the prettiest or most intelligent girl in high school.  
  
Perhaps without that force pushing me forward, I stood still while the world happened around me.  
  
Regardless, I'm here on this planet for as long as it takes my body to break down, which I suspect won't be too long. After years of self inflicted abuse, my mind and my body are exhausted. So until oblivion swallows me whole, I'll find a new way to push myself forward. Not praise from others or alcohol from a bottle.  
  
Maybe just faith in mankind will guide me home. 


	2. Chapter Two

Chapter Two: "... more lies about a world that never was and never will be..."  
  
Kyle's POV  
  
Strength.  
  
Courage.  
  
That's what I always believed would carry a person through life. Strength and courage; pushing a person to each higher level in their life. Being more than they are, being more than they think they can be. Being more than people perceive them to be.  
  
Since my days on a high school football team, people always pushed me on. It wasn't their belief that I could be someone – it was their disbelief that urged me. If someone didn't believe I could be someone or do something, I would go out of my way to prove I could. I was raised with the confidence that I could be whatever I wanted.  
  
Life is one larger roller coaster that never gives you the warning to put your seatbelt on. Along with this certain faith in myself came ignorance that I could change anything and everything. I foolishly believed my path in life was mine to take, and no one could take away from me.  
  
I was wrong – horribly, horribly wrong.  
  
My pre-alien existence was a peaceful one, albeit boring, but peaceful. I chose whom to be friends with. I chose what classes to go to. I chose who I wanted to be, from the inside out. I had the choice to be someone that others admired. I had the choice to be perfection.  
  
It's like that saying. You never know what you have until it's gone. Swept away by the alien invasion, I was left with indecision and insecurity. Choices were no longer mine to make. Where did I belong in this new world of knowledge? How was I supposed to swallow all this? And if I wasn't who I was used to be – who was I now?  
  
I couldn't walk away from this mess. Max Evans had saved my life, and I owed him for that. Looking back now, I wish he had laid me there to die.  
  
Jumping from extraterrestrial disaster to the next, I never had time to breathe. In the movies, all this excitement is alluring. Adults and children alike dream of lives where they battle otherworldly forces, becoming silent super heroes. But when the movie ends, so does the fantasy. When they open their eyes, the dream is over.  
  
But for me, the battle goes on.  
  
I won't deny that the choice was mine whether to leave Roswell post- graduation. I was in still deciding who I was. All I knew was that I felt like I belonged with this family. I had no prosperous future in Roswell, and they offered me to be a part of something much larger than myself.. It seemed like the right decision.  
  
I find it oddly amusing now, how I had once told Jesse that being in the know was beneficial. I was part of something "bigger than myself". Women learn that bigger is not always better by experience – and so did I. Experiencing the endless nights when we would drive on from town to town, always checking the rearview mirror. Experiencing Isabel's grief as she lost the entirety of her life in one fell swoop. Experiencing the loss of my own father with nothing more than the faint memory of goodbye.  
  
In high school, it's all about being someone and doing something and getting recognized. Nothing really prepared me for my life after Roswell. I had an obtuse vision of my life being one long road trip with friends, facing the dark depths of the world with my companions. I never expected to be shivering in a rusted van night after night, or suffering day after day without a bite to eat.  
  
The most awful part was watching the others. I would love to say it became one for all, and all for one, but that would be an utter lie. I watched as Max rose to become the King he claimed he would never be. After years of commanding a faux troop, it was difficult for him to loosen the reins. I suppose we all came to understand his position – but I was never one to agree with it.  
  
We never really had a place to call home again. It was year after year of the same thing – settling in a secluded place for a few weeks, and then moving on. Although we shared the same air, we barely knew each other anymore. Through marriages and new powers, we were no more than just six strangers walking along this path together.  
  
Maria and Michael married. Max and Liz married. Isabel and I – we were married in the solemn church of depression.  
  
For Isabel, she had lost her passion for life. Everything she had worked for suddenly became meaningless. Her efforts were worth nothing now without a life. She had become someone, and did things, for what turned out to be no reason at all. She was left in this oblivion, where she had no purpose.  
  
She found solace in me for some reason. I think from seeing my departure from my father allowed her to find a common link between us. Like we had both given up an important part of our lives for all this – and through that, I suppose she thought she could move on if I could.  
  
For me, I thought I was at my prime in the beginning. Isabel turned to no one else but me. We were becoming more than friends in a way that I had never felt before. But more quickly than I thought possible, I realized that it was not enough to pacify me. The pressure of this new world was weighing down on me, and it was doing so quickly.  
  
My powers finally came to me, and I wanted nothing to do with them. At first I hadn't even realized I was gaining my powers, if you can even call them that. I thought they were just regular dreams, coming to me like any other night. It wasn't until I finally stood back and took note of what was happening.  
  
It came to me after waking from an odd dream one night. We were staying in an abandoned farmhouse outside of Mullen, Nebraska.  
  
I had gone to talk to Maria, returning a book that I had borrowed from her. "Thanks," I told her as she took it back. "I fell asleep reading it last night." Right then, I noticed Maria had a bright pink bandage wrapped around her index finger. My eyes widened, recognizing the image.  
  
"Maria," I had said to her. "What happened to your finger?"  
  
Laughing, she shook her head. "Oh, nothing," she told me, shrugging me off. Persistent, I asked her again.  
  
"Why do you want to know so bad?" she asked sternly.  
  
I cleared my throat nervously. "Just listen to me, okay? If I'm wrong, you just let me know. In fact, it would ease my mind if you could scream I'm wrong the moment you realize it, okay?" She nodded with a peculiar face.  
  
"You were sewing a hole in Liz's navy sweater – right under the armpit. You poked your finger by accident, and realized it didn't hurt." Maria's face turned white and her jaw dropped. Swallowing, I continued. "So you started poking it again and again."  
  
"Kyle," whispered Maria heavily. "Were you watching me? I didn't tell anyone that."  
  
Taking deep breaths, I gripped Maria's arm. "Maria, I think I've got it."  
  
Brushing off my hand, she let out an uneasy laugh. Trying to joke, she said, "But Kyle, guys don't get their periods..." Her smile faded.  
  
"My power, Maria. I saw it in my dreams last night. I saw what you did to your finger." Clenching my jaw, I ran a hand through my hair. "I'm telling you the truth."  
  
Maria gave me an awkward hug. "I believe you," she told me in a hesitant voice.  
  
I revealed to the entire group my newfound powers. Michael was resistant, of course, as if I were making a big deal out of nothing. Liz and Max listened intently, and decided collectively that it was very possible I was right. So they tested me. The next morning, I tried to recall my dream but it failed me.  
  
Michael reveled in being correct for once.  
  
Yet a week later, after falling asleep beside Isabel underneath a blanket, I had a dream about her. I dreamed about her eating a jelly filled donut, and feeling content for the first time in weeks. After that dream, it became apparent. My storytelling dreams were only possible when I was in contact of a possession of whomever I was dreaming about.  
  
It was the first time I freaked outwardly. Losing my cool, I began to foolishly deny everything. That I wasn't a part of this group, that I wanted no part of this alien-healing side effect. The weight of the past nine years of my life came crashing down on me, and I threw out all sanity.  
  
"This is not who I am!" I had shouted to no one in particular. "I'm not like this, I'm not a frickin' alien."  
  
"Don't think that we enjoy this either," Michael growled back at me. "You had your choice and you made it."  
  
Before I had the chance to pummel him, Max pushed me back. In the heat of the moment, I rushed out in fury. He had been right and I was the fool, but I wasn't willing to admit it. I was angry about everything. Trying to gain my cool back, I sat down on a random log. I sat there for a while. I knew my powers were a long time coming but they made my life that much more surreal.  
  
The door opened behind me and I felt Max sit down beside me. We were silent for a few strained minutes. I think we were both trying to find something to say that hadn't already been said.  
  
"I'd understand if you hate me," he spoke softly.  
  
I clenched my fists. "I don't hate you."  
  
"Whether you do or not, I would understand." Max dropped his head. "I never meant for this to happen. I never meant for us to live like this."  
  
"That's your problem, Max! You never mean for anything to happen, but it does." I shook my head angrily. "It always does."  
  
Max stared yearningly at the dirt, rubbing his hands over and over. I hadn't meant to sound cruel, but we had been living – barely surviving – like this for over four years.  
  
I was exhausted of hearing Max making excuses for things he had no control over.  
  
I was exhausted of Max taking the brunt of everything that came our way.  
  
I was exhausted of him stupidly taking responsibility time and time again, and not even trying to learn from it. Somehow, we always found ourselves back in a bind.  
  
"Here's the thing, Max," I told him. "You can say all the words you want but actions speak much louder." I paused, gathering my thoughts. "No one is blaming you for anything, and no one has ever blamed you for anything. This bullshit guilt you feel – it's all you, buddy. But if you are so dead set on being this perfect leader, then act like it. We can't wander forever."  
  
"I just want the best for everyone."  
  
I sighed. He would never comprehend. "Good luck with that then." I stood, turning to walk back inside. I only had so much energy left after these years, and I was not going to waste it on Max's self-loathing party.  
  
"Wait, Kyle," Max called. "Please. Just talk with me."  
  
I glanced at him. He seemed so lost and desperate, like a deserted puppy along the side of the road. I could see why Liz had stayed with him then. She was afraid that this little puppy was going to get run over, and believe me, he had come close more times than desired.  
  
"It's not me you should be talking to, Max. I am not your wife."  
  
I waited for a response but nothing came. He wanted me to talk with him, but he sat in silence. Irritated, I decided to make my way inside again, feeling the weight pouring down on me.  
  
"Liz just doesn't understand sometimes." He exhaled loudly. "I love her – I love her more than anything in this world, but she doesn't understand." Max glanced at me, and I caught a glimpse of tears. "She doesn't understand that this is it. I can't give her more than this. I try to tell her that but she keeps dreaming. She keeps telling me it will get better." He shook his head sadly. "But I think we both know it won't."  
  
I ran my hand wearily through my hair. Sitting back down beside him, I pat his knee in consolation. "Max, she's had plenty of chances to walk away from you, but she hasn't. What makes you think she will now?"  
  
A small gust of air leaves Max's lungs, his hands clenched so tightly that I'm afraid he's going to lose circulation in his fingers. With a short glance, he announced in a barely audible voice, "Maria's pregnant."  
  
My bottom lip fell open, and instantly I'm speechless. Maria was pregnant. My heart felt heavy. There was another life being thrown into this otherworldly chaos. I had never felt such sympathy, such pity, for an unborn life as I did for that tiny egg harvesting in Maria's uterus.  
  
"Michael told me," Max continued. "He said he doesn't think Maria knows about it yet, but he could feel it. He could feel his child growing in her."  
  
I shook my head. "I'm pretty sure that's not the only thing he felt if she ended up pregnant."  
  
Ignoring my comment, Max proclaimed, "Michael didn't want to say anything to Maria yet. He's worried the baby won't make it to full term."  
  
"He doesn't want to let her know? In a month, I think Maria will notice a little Michael pushing his way out instead of in." I cringed at the thought. "Besides, Tess had your spawn with no difficultly."  
  
I felt Max's eyes burn into me. "That was different. We were both hybrids. Maria's totally human." He paused, his eyes turning to the dark blue above. "I keep telling Michael to talk to Maria, to sort this out, but he refuses. Liz has been having visions for the last three weeks. All she sees is Maria with her hand over her mouth, crying."  
  
"Hold on, so how does Maria being pregnant affect you and Liz?"  
  
"Something is coming, Kyle. I can feel it in my bones. And with all these cards up in the air, I don't know how to brace myself. I don't know what I would do if Liz left – and if she finds out that Maria is pregnant, she'll know she's having these visions because..."  
  
"Because Maria is going to lose the baby," I finished. "And if Maria loses the baby, Liz will know she can't carry your baby. And if she can't carry your baby, Tess will be the winner. And Maria will leave is she knows Michael knew. Liz will go with her." I grumbled. "This is one fucked up situation you've gotten yourself into, Max."  
  
"Don't I know it."  
  
Something swiftly came to my attention.  
  
"Wait, so Liz has been having visions and Maria is pregnant?" A wave of selfish consciousness passed over me. I felt slapped with reality. For four years I had trusted these people with my life and they haven't even had the courtesy to inform me on what's been going on? Visions, pregnancies, and lies, all buried within this small family of ours. I felt like I was in the middle of some prime time drama show. "Were you ever going to tell me?"  
  
"I'm telling you now, Kyle."  
  
I shook my head in distaste. It was selfish, yes. But I was tired of feigning being in a family, when in reality, it was everything but. "You're fucking lucky that Liz hasn't left you yet. For that matter, you're really fucking lucky that Isabel hasn't left you either."  
  
I watched Max grimaced from the sting of my comment. Max never wanted to discuss Isabel – it was too much of a sore spot for him. She had given up her love, her life, and her soul to follow her brother. Now her body was merely an empty shell, and Max refused to acknowledge it.  
  
The distance between the two had grown so large that I wasn't even sure if they would be able to recognize each other on the street. It was as if Isabel gave her whole life to Max, wrapped with a bow, and he had never really taken the time to open it.  
  
"Good night, Max," I sneered. I stood up and once again moved for the back door. I was ready for my few blissful hours out of this conscious world.  
  
"You should leave, Kyle."  
  
I turned around sharply, my ears prickling. What had he just said?  
  
"Kyle, I mean it. Take Isabel, and leave tonight. Get out of this now, before it gets worse."  
  
He, the great Max, was telling me to run.  
  
"Wow, you're brilliant, Max," I snarled. "I'll just pick up Isabel in my arms and walk thousands of miles out in the unknown without any money or food or transportation to help me." I laugh outrageously. "You're fucking Einstein."  
  
Max stood and grabbed my wrist. "I'm serious, Kyle. Isabel is dying here with us. I know you've been waiting for this, for your freedom. I can't keep holding you and Isabel back." He glanced inside, no doubt considering Isabel's deteriorating state. "She's drowning in this mess. I can't..." He took a breath, trying to gain his composure. "I can't watch her like this anymore. I want what's best for her."  
  
I was offended. It was as if he thought I had been waiting for him permission all this time. But then again, was I? I was angry though, for him even thinking that.  
  
"Fuck you, Max!" I shouted. "That's your fucking problem. You're always preaching about wanting what's best for someone, but we all know it's only about what you think is best for that person." I scowled at him. "You can't even look at her, but you know what's best for her? Maybe you should ask Isabel what's best for her before you go making all these decisions."  
  
I jerked my hand back and stormed inside, slamming the door behind me. At that very moment, I was so disgusted with Max, myself, and the entire situation that I was very tempted to take Max up on his idea. I wanted nothing more than to walk away from the entire thing, and guzzle a much deserved beer. I needed to calm down.  
  
"Serenity now," I whispered to myself.  
  
I slipped into Isabel's bedroom. The silhouette of her body rose faintly against the darkened walls as she breathed in and out. In the darkness, all I could make out was a mass of poorly dyed, grown out hair sprawled across the shallow pillows.  
  
"Max wants us to leave, huh?"  
  
Her voice touched a part of me that felt safe and warm. A part of me I had always thought was still Roswell. I sighed and sat down beside her laying form. I put a hand on her knee and rubbed it gently.  
  
"I suppose you heard?"  
  
Isabel nodded her head. "I left the window open." I saw a shadow of a smirk. "I heard you tell him off." She put her worn hand on top of mine. Like the wisp of a wind, her mood had changed and I heard her tears again. "Maybe we should."  
  
"Leave?" I questioned.  
  
"Yes."  
  
I sat in silence, grasping the concept. When Max had said it to me, it sounded ridiculous. Absolutely insane – why would we leave? But hearing it from Isabel's ragged lips, it sounded much more attainable – much more reasonable. Leave? Of course. Why wouldn't we?  
  
"Isabel." I called out to her, and she clenched my hand tighter.  
  
"I'm scared too," she whispered to me.  
  
So we packed our things and were gone an hour later. Before leaving the house, I found an envelope with my name on it sitting on the kitchen table. Inside were two thousand dollars, and a note that read, "One last secret I didn't tell you." With that money, Isabel and I were driving away in a rented Oldsmobile by the time the sun set on the house.  
  
Right about then it would have been nice for the house lights to fade back on, and for the credits to start rolling. We were confused and lost, unsure of what was in store for us other than a fresh start. Would it be foolish to even consider reentering civilization? Besides, what were we really running from anyway?  
  
A week following our departure, I was thrown from my sleep when I heard Isabel's shrieking.  
  
"I can't feel them! I can't feel them!" Her cries penetrated my skin, and I felt this deep urge to crawl outside of myself.  
  
"Who?" I asked her, rushing to her side. "You can't feel who?"  
  
Sobbing, Isabel screamed Michael and Max's names. Her entire body was shaking, and large beads of sweat trailed down her skin. She was so raw, so shredded, that I would have done anything to put her into new skin.  
  
Isabel cried for days. Quite literally, I did not see her without a tear. I, on the other hand, was almost... settled with the idea. I hate to say it, but I felt relief for Max. He no longer had to carry the world on his shoulders. He was free to be without guilt or prejudice or pressure. He could just be Max – whoever that may have been.  
  
I assumed that Maria and Liz were dead too. Max was too cautious to die, so whatever had happened must have cost all of their lives.  
  
Isabel had only asked me once to use my powers. I refused. I didn't want to know what happened. I had learned very quickly over the years that sometimes it was just better not to know. All I knew was that Max and Michael were freed from their constraints that bonded them to this world – and in the process, Isabel had been freed as well.  
  
I won't deny that curiosity overwhelmed me from time to time, but when we had left them that night, I vowed to really leave them. I don't know if Isabel ever blamed me for what happened – if our leaving had started the line of events that ended their lives. I think somewhere deep down, she did blame me for something – although I've never been sure what. But on another level, I knew that she was happy with her rebirth into society.  
  
For three glorious years, we settled in a generic small town in Utah. Starting a charade that would bring us into our very late years, we played the roles of Kyle Evans and Isabel Valenti. It was a pathetic attempt to mask ourselves, but to the small town of Hoken, we were lovers from some anonymous city. Within a year, we were no longer playing the parts – we became them.  
  
When I had first left Roswell, I had been in deep lust with Isabel. Like most men these days, she was something I wanted so badly because I knew she could never be mine. Yet as we became saviours to each other, I truly fell in love with her. Not the glorious love that pours over you from head to toe. No, it was the kind of love that you don't really notice or overly tend to, but it's there. The bland, generic kind of love that involves each other's company in the lack of anything else. The kind of love that you're just so used to, that you don't want to bother with the effort of being with someone else. The kind of love you take for granted.  
  
It doesn't make it any less than any other kind of love – it's just not as spectacular and as much of a fireworks show than other kinds of love. When we came home from our humdrum jobs, it was just a comfort to know that I wasn't going to be alone.  
  
Isabel was beautiful though. She was gorgeous, even with the past years displayed right on her face. She was weak, both physically and emotionally, but she was beautiful. She needed me and that's what made it so magnificent. I felt irreplaceable.  
  
But then I did become irreplaceable.  
  
I woke up to a note from Isabel, telling me she was leaving and not coming back. It said that she was going to follow her heart – and I knew exactly where her heart was leading her.  
  
I just wish Jesse Ramirez really knew how damn lucky he was.  
  
And suddenly, I was back where I was before the alien invasion had ruined my life. I was sixteen years old, clueless, lifeless, and lonely. It was the most glorious feeling I had ever had.  
  
Leaving Hoken behind me, I went through another massive transformation, but it wasn't to change me into something else. It was to change me back to whom I was originally. I started watching football again. I wore blue jeans, with flannel shirts. I bought a pair of cowboy boots!  
  
It wasn't until I had received the most amazing parcel from an unknown sender that my life truly changed. Inside a small cardboard box was a picture of a three-year-old Anne Guerin, her beautiful mother beside her, and a dazed Liz standing behind them. They were alive. There was a part of me that always wondered, but...  
  
It became my new mission. I went in search of them. I felt ashamed for never doing so before, but the photograph had made me realized – they were part of my past. I knew if I wanted to have my future, I needed to reacquaint myself with my past. And if I were to truly to become who I once was, they had to be a part of it.  
  
It took me twelve years to find Liz. It was too late though – she was buried six feet under. After much investigation, I discovered the entire story. Maria had gone missing, presumably dead. Anne was sent to an undisclosed foster home.  
  
Liz had died from alcohol poisoning.  
  
I couldn't believe it. Other than Isabel, whom I hadn't heard from since she had left, I was the only one alive. Alone.  
  
It struck me as sad that out of our generation, Isabel and I were the only ones to make it past fifty. And even then, I didn't know whether Isabel was alive or not. I realized that this was such an absurd reality. For the two children moving on from our generation, was this all we had to pass on? Regret, remorse, and inevitable death. I knew it was time for me to bring more to these kids' lives.  
  
But I was too tired to go in search of them. In my heart, I knew one day they would find me.  
  
So that's what I do now. Wait for them. Because like Max, Isabel, and Michael, I know they'll have questions.  
  
And I know that I want to be the one to answer them. Not just for their fulfillment, but for Max, Michael, Maria and Liz too.  
  
Because if I don't tell their story, who will remember them? 


	3. Chapter Three

Chapter Three: "... but who can decide what they dream?..."  
  
Anne's POV  
  
Part One  
  
Mis-cel-la-ne-ous: 1. formed or consisting of different things or parts, not arranged in a particular pattern or system. 2. having or showing qualities, interests, etc.; many-sided.  
  
My favourite word is miscellaneous.  
  
It's such a disorderly word. There is no rhyme or reason to miscellaneousness. A person doesn't have to be one particular thing. Happy. Sad. Clean. Funny. Mad. Lovable. Kind. Friendly.  
  
Perfection.  
  
No, with a spark of miscellaneousness, a person is free to be crazy and confused and happy and sad all at the same time.  
  
I've always wanted to be miscellaneous.  
  
My foster parents, Jane and Gary Pifner, taught me by the book with the illusion of being "myself". I was taught to be laidback, but only when necessary. I was taught to be humourous, but only when there was nothing else to say. I was allowed to decorate my room as a teenager, as long as the colours were light and pastel. No decorations that didn't pass their approval were allowed.  
  
They weren't always stiff though.  
  
On Sundays I was allowed to do charity work after church service.  
  
From the moment I entered the Pifner's household, I knew I didn't belong. I was different. I was different in more ways than one could imagine. I never fit into their cookie cutter perception of who I should have been. They pitied me, pitied my situation – my life before them. They even pitied my life after them.  
  
Even thought I didn't know it then, I had a part inside of me that would push me to become more. It would push me to be more than the Pifner's could ever fathom.  
  
I used to dream of my real mother, although I don't remember much. All I can recall is her long, golden hair sweeping against my skin, like a blanket of silk enrapturing me. Every morning when I awoke from one my dreams, I would immediately shut my eyes again. I would wish for the dream to come back for me, to bring me back to its safety.  
  
And every time it failed me.  
  
The Pifner's attempted to raise me in a manner where I had no questions. They never denied not being my real parents, but it never went past that. Whenever I asked Jane if she knew my mother, she would simply reply, "When you have questions, you should turn to the Lord. He will guide you." Even when I asked her what would appear on the dinner table that evening, she answered the same. As if God were in the kitchen, preparing the spaghetti and meatballs himself.  
  
My years as a child left me curious, but ashamed, as if wherever I had come from was awful or demeaning. When my body began to awaken during my preteen years, I was certain that I was not like the other children in my religious youth group. Other girls my age were worrying about bleeding from their little patches of heaven, whereas I was worrying about why my skirts were turning sinful colours with the only touch of my fingers.  
  
It terrified me. I was in such fear that I was convinced that the devil was coming for me. I could never share with Jane and Gary either, too scared that I would be sent back to whatever hell I had came from. I hid my abilities for years. I wouldn't even allow my thoughts to ponder them, too frightened that God would be listening.  
  
But then Tyler Kendall changed it all.  
  
He was a year older than me, a sophomore in high school when we met. Tyler was my math tutor. I've never been particularly great with mathematics, so the Pifner's decided I needed to "brush" up on my skills with the aid of a tutor. Tyler had been hired through the recommendation of a church friend.  
  
Tyler was unlike any other person I had ever known. Up until then, Jane and Gary had practically handpicked all of my friends and influences. Luckily, they never came face to face with Tyler, otherwise we would never have been able to meet at all. His naturally chestnut hair was constantly being teased with flamboyant shades. From chartreuse to magenta to indigo, his hair had seen it all. He had a piercing in his right nostril, and two in each earlobe. Tyler was constantly seen in ragged, but classic Nirvana shirts.  
  
I was absolutely smitten.  
  
On top of it all, Tyler was a well-rounded, intelligent, freethinking individual. I hung onto every word he shared with me, keeping them with me until I could be alone with them later. I would take each sentence he spoke, and turn it over and over in my head, analyzing it all.  
  
Our tutorial afternoons started just as that – math lessons. But day after day, the ice began to break between us. It started off as just small talk. "Have you seen this movie?" Tyler would ask me, and the answer would always be a negative. Or he would ask, "Have you heard this band's latest song?" Which I would, of course, have shaken my head no to.  
  
Finally one afternoon, he questioned me about my lack of pop culture knowledge.  
  
"Don't you see any movies or listen to any music?" Tyler made it sound like I was sheltered puppy, stuck in the pound.  
  
And he was right.  
  
I revealed to him that my parents were strict, and I was mostly only allowed to participate in educational activities.  
  
"Aw, shit, man, that's harsh. What a bunch of crackers."  
  
I must have stared at him oddly afterwards, because he shook his head and laughed. "We need to teach you some of this stuff, Anne. You can't survive in high school without being able to act like a real person."  
  
Things just progressed from there. Tyler would tell my parents on the phone that an additional tutoring lesson would be necessary for the following Friday or Saturday night. I would meet him at the local library, and he would take me to all sorts of places.  
  
I remember the first time he took me to see a movie. I sat in awe throughout the film, like a person watching the sunset for the first time. Tyler greedily sucked and crunched on his popcorn and soda, while I was transfixed with the mere idea of a movie theatre. I was mystified.  
  
I began to find a part of myself that I never realized was there. I was introduced to different aspects and beliefs of the world. I did not have to put my faith into something I never truly believed in the first place. I began to skip church service, feigning illness. That was the Pifner's first sign of awareness that I was no longer going to be the girl without questions.  
  
Escalating more so, I would leave the house on nights without permission – sometimes without even their knowledge. Tyler became the number one priority. He gave me the knowledge – the consciousness of a life that I never knew was available.  
  
We never did anything really crazy. It was always a new adventure every night. He would take me to a fast food restaurant, or a contemporary art house. Or we would just hang out at his place, as he taught me what exactly the worldwide web was, and how the hell it was possible.  
  
Even with a somewhat rough exterior, Tyler was soulful inside. And observant. He always knew what to say, what to do, and how to react. Beside him, I seemed like a constant time bomb, exploding at whatever new invention was brought to my eyes.  
  
Sitting on his couch one night, Tyler began to ask me things. Other than the initial lack of pop culture questions, he had never really questioned me about my life. To be quiet honest, I was the one walking around with question marks springing from my head like firecrackers.  
  
"Okay, Anne, give it to me straight," he said to me as he turned the television on mute. "Your parents. What's the deal?"  
  
I shifted in my seat, beginning to feel uncomfortable. "What do you mean? They're my parents."  
  
"Well, when we first started hanging out, you called them Mom and Dad. And now you just call them 'The Pifners'. As if they're like – I don't know, just some family. Like 'The Waltons' or 'The Tanners'. I don't get it."  
  
Scratching my head, I asked, "Who are the Tanners?"  
  
Tyler sighed. "It was a 90's show, Full House? Forget it, not important." He put his hand on top of mine. "I've heard things at school, and being friends with you and all, I just wanted to know if it was true."  
  
Swallowing hard, I stared at a dented piece of wall right behind his left ear. "What have you heard?"  
  
He ran his knuckles gently against my hand. "If you don't want to talk about this, it's fine, Anne." I saw him smile at me from the corner of my eye. "It doesn't make a difference in what you and I have."  
  
"What you and I have?" I repeated in a high voice. "What do we have?"  
  
Tyler sighed and brought his hand back. "Forget it." He turned off the mute on the television, and crossed his arms. Fighting back unwanted fear, I stole the remote control and turned off the television. I chucked the remote across the room.  
  
"What do we have, Tyler?" I questioned in a solid voice. I turned towards him, staring straight into his creamy, brown eyes. I was a complete goner.  
  
"Something," he muttered. "We have something, all right? Drop it."  
  
"I won't drop it. Please," I pleaded, "Tell me what we have."  
  
Tyler gazed back at me with intensity. "You make me feel..." He trailed off, unsure of how to exactly place what he was feeling. He grabbed my hand and held it between both of his. "Right. You make me feel right. I always feel right when I'm with you."  
  
I blushed profusely, wondering if this is what love felt like. I had read about it, how it drove people to death, but never had I experienced quite so intensely.  
  
"I feel right with you too." I dropped my head, trying to shield my tears. "And I'm not just repeating what you said. I've never felt right in my life, Tyler. Then you came into my life and suddenly – I was open and right and, and, and..." I paused. I looked back up at him. "And I finally knew who I was."  
  
Reaching deep inside myself, I continued. "The Pifners are not my real family. Well, they've tried to be, but they're not."  
  
Tyler let out a noisy breath. "So it's true. What I've heard at school then. That ten years ago your mom went missing, out of the blue. Neighbours found you without anyone around." He shook his head. "I'm so sorry, Anne."  
  
I shrugged. "I don't remember much of it. Counselors once told me that people sometimes block their memories after a traumatic experience." I scrunched my eyebrows. "I once read in the paper that there was another woman who lived with my mother and I, but I don't really remember her either." I gave him a sad smile. "I wish I did. I have so many questions."  
  
Tyler nodded. "Totally understandable." Giving a light, slightly nervous chuckle, he stood up. "Okay, enough with that. I'm going to grab the remote control and then we can watch a movie or something, okay?" He walked over to where the remote had landed, and picked it up.  
  
"Hey, can you pass me my bag?" I asked him as he made his way back to me.  
  
"Sure, where is -" He didn't finished his sentence as he stumbled over my purse, and crashed into a nearby table.  
  
"Tyler!" I screamed. I ran over to him, worried. "Are you all right?" As he rolled over to face me, a large, bleeding cut stared up at me. "Oh, Ty, you're bleeding."  
  
"I am?" As he touched his forehead lightly, testing for blood. "Damn. That hurt." I laughed at his lack of emotion, and grabbed a tissue. I pressed it up against his head, applying pressure.  
  
Laughing again, I told him, "Yeah, it looked like it hurt." Taking the tissue away to check the cut, I stared at it with puzzlement. "Weird, I don't see the cut."  
  
Tyler gave me a confused look. "What do you mean you don't see the cut? I was bleeding. I felt the cut."  
  
I shook my head. "I saw the blood and cut too, but when I took the tissue off, it was go- oh my god." I began to tremble and immediately moved away.  
  
"What?" Tyler asked. "What's wrong?" He stood and took a few steps near me, but I backed away again.  
  
"I have to go, Tyler," I told him quickly. "I'll see you later." I reached for my purse, but he grabbed my wrist with an intent stare.  
  
Slowly, he asked me, "Anne, what's wrong? Did I do something?" Furrowing my eyebrows, he questioned, "Does blood freak you out or something?"  
  
Giving a nervous laugh, I shook my head no. He looked at me again, puzzled. "Was it the cut? You put a Kleenex on it an-" Gaining a small grasp of understanding, he asked, "Did you do something to my cut? Do you have magic powers or something?"  
  
"No!" I barked, making it obvious I was lying to him. "Let me go!" I began crying profusely, ashamed of everything I was. I was ashamed of everything I didn't know, because I knew that when Tyler asked me questions, I wouldn't have the answers.  
  
That night set in motion the events that would shape my life forever. With a calm face, Tyler listened to every silly word I had to say. How I came about these special skills, not powers, and the little I knew about them.  
  
And for the first time in my life, I was truly free from the chains that held me.  
  
Tyler had set me free, and I owed my life to him.  
  
Sometimes I feel this sadness in me. It's like a jack in the box, lying dormant until something – anything - makes it catapult out of its box. I can feel it laying quietly within me, even on the most joyous of events. Then on a random day, it will just burst inside of me, making my emotions not my own. Suddenly I won't love life anymore. I won't feel adequate. Or I just won't feel at all.  
  
And it's a terrifying thing. Not feeling at all, that is. People say that love is the strongest emotion or feeling there is – but those people must have never felt the emptiness. They must have never felt the loneliness, because it is all consuming. It swallows you whole, without a word of warning.  
  
Not being able to breathe must be a horrible experience. But being able to breathe and not wanting to – it's a much more horrifying predicament, because I have the power to do it. I have to power to make myself not breathe. And sometimes just having that power makes the entire situation much more dangerous.  
  
Telling Tyler about everything was the most freeing action I could ever take. Not because it was off my chest. No, it was because he understood. He shared my pain with me, not with his words – but with his heart. Every time I ached, he would ache with me. The sadness was never just for me to feel anymore - like a white knight, he eased the pain.  
  
It was Tyler who pushed me to find out the truth. I was fearful of finding out where I came from – what I really was. What if I discovered what I was looking for and didn't like it? But Tyler always loved thrills, and gripping my hand, we ventured for the truth.  
  
I admit now that I treated the Pifners poorly. They had taken me in when I had no one else. Despite the sheltering of outside life, they were good people with good hearts. My eyes were hazy though, and I faded out of their lives until I was no longer a part of them at all. After graduating, I moved into an apartment with Tyler. Surprisingly, the Pifners never really argued with me about anything. I think on a deeper level, they understood why I needed to branch away.  
  
Our efforts to find my past were fruitless at first. We didn't know where to start. Our investigation of the newspapers from around the time my mother disappeared provided us with no important information whatsoever. No names were ever mentioned, not even my mother's. It all was the same – a young girl is found abandoned outside of her home. Her mother disappeared without a trace, and the 'allegedly drunken' roommate wanted nothing to do with the case.  
  
Tyler was determined though. He always said he wanted to find out for me, but I suspect he was just as curious as I. Sometimes when we would sit together at night, he would try to get me test for other skills, like mind reading and telekinesis. It always ended without positive results, but I always tried for him. It was the least I could do.  
  
It wasn't until three years after we had moved in that I really became in tune with the other side.  
  
Up until then, Tyler and I had shared a fairly platonic relationship, even after he confessed feeling right with me. We were even living together, and he knew the most inner secrets of my life – and still, we touched and moved around each other like fourth graders.  
  
One night we were enjoying our first night off together in weeks, so we had gotten comfortable in front of the television. After a few hours of watching show after show, my week caught up with me and I fell asleep against his shoulder.  
  
Ten minutes later, I awoke up to his very soft lips against mine.  
  
"Tyler," I stammered breathily. Pulling my lips back, I stared at him with wide eyes. "What was that?"  
  
Tyler coughed, shaking his head. "Nothing." When I continued to stare at him with shock, he added hastily, "Didn't think you were breathing." Another cough. "Or something."  
  
While Tyler was doing his best to forget what he had done, all I could think was, 'Damn it, how could I have been asleep for my first kiss?'  
  
Forfeiting any insecurity, I reached for his head and pulled it towards me. Suddenly our lips were intertwined, and I felt this bliss I had never felt before. It was like the entirety of Tyler's soul washed over me, and I could feel him in places that his physical body could never touch.  
  
"Anne," he moaned softly. Suddenly hands were all over the place, and our bodies were experiencing sensations I didn't even think possible.  
  
"Anne," he said again, but more distinct. He pulled his lips away, but his hands cupped my face. "What are we doing?"  
  
I shook my head. "I don't know," I replied. "But I don't want to stop." His lips came crashing back on mine, and suddenly we didn't need to know what we were doing. It just happened.  
  
Hours later we laid naked on Tyler's bed, and I finally learned what spooning was. I felt awkward, and unsure of myself. Was that what people actually did behind their bedroom doors?  
  
Pulling me closer, Tyler kissed my bare shoulder. "That was..." He paused, searching for words. "That was like nothing I've ever experienced."  
  
"Huh," I replied dumbly. "Me either."  
  
Laughing, Tyler rubbed the length of my arm. I had to admit, that felt good. His hands just smoothing down my skin, easing away the uncomfortable goose bumps.  
  
"I'm sorry if it hurt," he told me gently. "I've been told it hurts the first time." Leaving kisses on my neck, he whispered to me, "You don't have to believe me, but it does get better."  
  
Suddenly feeling like a child, I told him sternly, "It did not hurt." The moment the words left my mouth, I knew I was acting like an idiot. Tyler was just trying to be understanding. "It was just a little uncomfortable," I added more gently. Biting my lip, I asked cautiously, "Was I any good?"  
  
Tyler chuckled, and nuzzled his head against my shoulder. "You were perfect." I heard his voice becoming hazy, and I was sure he was falling asleep. Adding in his heavy-eyed state, he whispered, "Perfect as always." I soon followed him into slumber.  
  
That night proved to be the most life changing night for two reasons. One was the unbelievable night with Tyler, and the second was what followed. Now, I've never really paid attention to dreams, but that night was the most peculiar dream I've ever had.  
  
I was standing in a cave unrecognizable by my eyes. Lighting was in short supply, but it glowed with a blue hue. Four large, sphere-like pods hung on the wall, and the way that the skin was protruding, it was as if something had pushed their way through these pods. As I inspected the cave, I sensed that I was there for a reason – that I was waiting for something or someone.  
  
"You must be Anne," a woman's voice called out to me. Turning, I saw the most beautiful woman standing behind me. Although her face bared tired wrinkles, her eyes twinkled gloriously. Her golden hair hung just below her shoulders and it seemed to glisten. I was in complete awe.  
  
"Who are..." I trailed off, suddenly overwhelmed with unexpected emotions. "Are you..."  
  
With a sad frown, she shook her head. "No, I'm sorry, I'm not your mother." With a light laugh, she added, "But I wish I were. You're so beautiful."  
  
Confused, I stepped towards her. "Then why do I feel like I know you?" Swallowing hard, I asked, "Why do I feel a connection to you?"  
  
She moved towards me, putting her hand across where my heart laid. "Because we are connected. Right here." Smiling, she dropped her hand. "Because we are the same."  
  
My emotions came rushing forwards, along with questions I had been storing for years. "We're the same?" I repeated, almost hopefully. When she nodded, I took a deep breath. "We're the same." I felt so relieved at that moment – so relieved that I was not alone. "I have so many questions."  
  
The beautiful woman reached for my face, tucking a strand of hair behind my ear. "And I wish I could answer them."  
  
My stomach dropping, I stared hard at her. "What do you mean? Why can't you answer them?"  
  
"Oh, Anne, that's just not the way it works. Some answers take more time, more effort, more precautions to discover. There's so much more you have to do. So many more paths to travel" She smiled at me again, her eyes shining brightly. "I can't answer what you have to ask, but I can give you the next piece of the puzzle." With a puzzled expression, she asked me, "Are you afraid?"  
  
With an almost bitter laugh, I replied, "I'm almost always afraid."  
  
"Then let him pull you out of the fear."  
  
"Who?"  
  
"The man who has claimed your heart, love." She cupped my face, and kissed my cheek. I could feel her beginning to pull away, and I wish I could have kept her with me forever, but somehow, I knew she had somewhere else to be.  
  
"The next piece of the puzzle is Kal Langley."  
  
The woman began to walk away from me. Watching her, I reached to touch her again, but it was too late. Before she left my sight completely, I yelled at her to wait. Turning to look at me, she raised her eyebrow in question.  
  
"You never told me who you are," I cried.  
  
The woman grinned, and nodded sadly. "You might never know who I am, Anne, but you can call me Isabel."  
  
I awoke then, back to my reality. Yet my world seemed a slight bit larger, and maybe even a bit sadder. For being such a beautiful woman, Isabel had such a sad face. Her eyes were even sad when they were turned up for a smile. I didn't know who she was, but I knew she was real. And that I had to find this Langley fellow.  
  
Tyler and I left for Los Angeles the next day. It was no longer just a race to discover where I came from – I felt I had to do this for Isabel. I didn't know what path of life she had come from, but I knew she visited me to make sure I would follow the one I was supposed to. The path of life I was destined for.  
  
Tyler had recognized Kal Langley as an infamous Hollywood director. We had no plans or strategies, but we knew that we had to follow this lead while we could. Once we reached Los Angeles, we realized how incredibly foolish we were being. How would we ever be able to contact Kal Langley?  
  
Fortunately, he came to us. 


	4. Chapter Four

Chapter Four: "... I look into the mirror and see your face..."  
  
Anne's POV  
  
Part Two  
  
It was our second day in Los Angeles and already I thought I was going to melt into nothingness.  
  
Our attempts at contacting Kal were fruitless. We couldn't even make it to his secretary's personal assistant without being hung up on. All day long we would dial and dial, but no luck. We even tried to find an event Kal could be attending, but it was unsuccessful.  
  
I was feeling disappointed.  
  
By the fifth night, I was packing my things away, including any hope that I would find my past. Tyler tried to talk sense to me, but I wanted nothing to do with sense. I just wanted to go home, and continue living the oblivious life I had been surviving with so far.  
  
At six minutes past eleven o'clock in the evening, our motel door swung open without so much as a knock and I got my first look at Kal Langley.  
  
"I don't care how you found me but stop following me. Stop trying to contact my secretary. And stop pestering her personal assistant." Kal stared right at me, a foul odor rising from the cigar in his mouth. I was taken by surprise and lost my voice for a moment. He was an older man, but probably nothing past sixty. He had a fragrance of arrogance that seemed impossible to cleanse the air from.  
  
Tyler, always being the sensible one, stuck out his hand. "Hello, my name is Tyler-"  
  
"I don't give a shit what your name is, kid," he spat. He scowled at Tyler's outreached hand. I felt offended by his behaviour, but on another odd level, I was intrigued.  
  
"I-I'm Anne," I stuttered. "Anne Pifner."  
  
Kal let out a bark of cruel laughter. "Pifner, huh?" He shook his head. "Poor kid." His eyes traveled up and down my body, and suddenly I felt very cold in the southern California climate. "Man, that bitch really fucked with your life."  
  
"Excuse me?" I blurted.  
  
Kal was about to sit down on the bed, but taking one look at the shape of the motel was in, he thought better. Crossing his arms, he told me, "Look, I know who you are. I know what you're looking for. But get lost." He shook his head. "I'll tell you the same thing I told the King years ago. You're better off not knowing."  
  
Kal began to walk out the door, but I grabbed his arm fiercely. "I want answers," I growled. "Who is this King? What am I better of not knowing?"  
  
Giving my hand a hard glare, Kal said in a low voice, "If you know what's good for you, kid, you'll take your hand off me right now."  
  
I dropped my hand, but I continued to hold my stare. Swallowing, I tried a different tactic.  
  
"Look, I'm just trying to find my past. You can understand that right?" I pleaded with him. "I just want to know who I am. Where I come from. Why I am..." I shifted my eyes. "Why I am the way I am."  
  
"Oh, shit," Kal swore. "You don't even know what you are, do you?" Shaking his head, he looked almost sorrowful for me. Almost.  
  
"Kal, please, I don't know anything. Tell me something, anything." I fought back my rising emotions. "All I know is that I woke up without a mother one morning. A mother I know nothing about." I clenched my fists. "No one even told me her name."  
  
"That's rough, kid," he responded. Yet with his original arrogance, he added, "That would make a good movie. Thanks for the idea."  
  
Tyler piped up again, "If you can't tell us of any important, then at least give us a name of someone who can."  
  
Kal grimaced the moment Tyler opened his mouth. Looking at me, he nodded over at Tyler. "Who is this kid?"  
  
Ignoring his question, I repeated Tyler's demand. "Give me a name, Kal."  
  
"Fine," Kal spit out. "But then you leave me alone. You never bother me again. You forget all about me."  
  
"Deal," I responded.  
  
Kal threw his cigar on the carpet and stomped it out. "Elizabeth Parker. That's who you want to find."  
  
"Who is she?" I blurted out.  
  
"The bitch who ruined your life. If you ever wonder why you don't know about your past, blame her." Kal began to walk out, but he stopped. "For being the nice guy that I am, you might want to find Maria Deluca too." Smirking, he added, "If I were you, I'd ditch the Pifner thing and go back to Guerin. Good luck, kid." He left without another word.  
  
Tyler came behind me, and I fell back into his embrace. I had two more puzzle pieces than I thought I would achieve.  
  
"Guerin, huh?" Tyler repeated in question. "Anne Guerin."  
  
I stared at the spot where Ka Langley had stood only seconds ago. "Is that really my name?" I thought out loud.  
  
The weeks following our return home, our entire time was spent researching. Who was Maria Deluca? Who was Elizabeth Parker? Was I Anne Guerin? And what exactly did all these names mean to me? It was no longer a desire to know – it was an addiction. I had to know, I just had to.  
  
Our research was slow going, without any plausible results. It wasn't until one night while Tyler was searching on the internet for information that we hit the jackpot. I was sitting at the kitchen table, sorting through mail and attempting to balance my checkbook.  
  
"Man, I can not take any more days off," I muttered to myself. "I'm so broke."  
  
Tyler coughed, and looked over at me. "I would take that back if I were you. I think I found what we've been looking for."  
  
Furrowing my eyebrows, I came to Tyler's side, reading over his shoulder. He pointed to a newspaper article he had come across from New Mexico.  
  
"Look here," he said. "It says that in 2003, six high school students from West Roswell High went missing after a mysterious happening at their graduation." Reading, he quoted, "'After much investigation, names were revealed of these missing students. Maria Deluca, Elizabeth Parker, Maxwell Evans, Isabel Ramirez, Kyle Valenti, and Michael Guerin.' It goes on to talk about how Elizabeth Parker's parents owned some restaurant. And look, there are pictures of some of them."  
  
Bending over for a better look, I nearly fell over glancing over the pictures.  
  
"Tyler..." I whispered brokenly.  
  
His eyes were glued to Maria Deluca's pictures, just like mine were. "You look just like her." Turning to face me, he grabbed my hands. "You have to go to Roswell, Anne. This could be it. This could be what you're looking for."  
  
Shaking my head, I replied, "I found their names, yeah, but they left Roswell. And that was years ago, I doubt anyone would know who they were." Rereading the names, I asked Tyler, "Do you think Isabel Ramirez was the same as my Isabel? I don't see a picture of her."  
  
"I would think so," he replied. "It's too coincidental, all these names. You have to go, Anne. You have to."  
  
"Tyler, even if I wanted to, I can't afford it."  
  
Standing up, he pulled out his wallet and handed me three credit cards. "Take your pick, Anne, because at this point, more debt is not going to make a difference. But you're going, even if I have to book your ticket for you."  
  
"Tyler..."  
  
"No, Anne, you have to do this." He smiled at me, and wrapped his arm around me. "We've worked so hard and for so long to find this. Please don't give this up."  
  
Gazing into his milky eyes, I blinked. "Will you go with me?"  
  
Tyler kissed my cheek. "Not this time. I think I've gone as far as I should go with this. It's time for you to discover your past." Intertwining our fingers together, he gave me the softest smile. "But you can bet on me being here when you get back – no matter who you are."  
  
So I left that weekend with my future with Tyler ahead of me. I just needed to find out what was behind me, so I could move on. Roswell, New Mexico was calling my name and that's where I headed.  
  
Luckily, I found the quaint restaurant called the Crashdown Café on my first afternoon.  
  
I sat nervously in the booth. The restaurant was quiet and empty, and the alien paraphernalia was beginning to freak me out. I felt like I had been sucked into an entirely different universe, but I knew deep down that I had to do this.  
  
If not for me, then I had to do it for Tyler, for everything he'd done for me to get to where I was.  
  
"Good afternoon, Miss," a handsome man addressed me. He stood before me in a ridiculous outfit, an order book poised in his hand. He seemed slightly older than I, and I vaguely recognized a New York accent. "What can I get for you today?"  
  
Feeling a case of extreme dry mouth, I squeaked out, "Water for now please." The waiter dropped his hands, and rolled his eyes. Without any other acknowledgement, he moved to get me a glass.  
  
When he returned with my water, I cleared my throat and spoke up.  
  
"Excuse me." The waiter raised an eyebrow. "Do you know anyone by the name of Elizabeth Parker?" The man gave a half smile, and nodded.  
  
"Sure, I do. She's the whole mystery behind this restaurant." I gave him an odd look, not understanding. The waiter took off the peculiar headband he was wearing for his uniform and sat across from me. "For almost fifty years, Jeff and Nancy Parker owned this restaurant before the current owner took over. Elizabeth, or rather Liz for short, was their daughter." I nodded, soaking in the information.  
  
"You see, she used to work here when she was teenager. The story goes that one day at work, there was a shooting and she got hit. But there was no bullet. And Liz was fine. They say that someone healed her, a young man. Legend is that they fell in love. Very Romeo and Juliet, if you know what I mean." He smirked.  
  
"All this funny stuff started happening around town for the next three years. She started hanging out with some shady characters, and by the time she graduated from high school, her and a couple of friends bolted, including that guy who healed her." He shrugged. "No one heard from them since."  
  
Gulping, I nodded. "Do you know anyone who would know where she is?"  
  
The waiter laughed. "Are you kidding me? Kid, she's just a fairy tale. Something to keep those hopeless romantics alive."  
  
"What about the Parkers?" I asked desperately.  
  
"Dead." The waiter stretched his arms. "The only guy who could give you more information would be my neighbour, Kyle Evans. He supposedly dated Liz once." He laughed to himself, and then checked the watch on his wrist. "He's usually out in the park around this time." He shook his head. "He's very nice, but be careful what you say to him. He's real fragile. He won't talk to just anyone."  
  
Standing up, I gave the first genuine smile in years. Sticking out my hand, I told him, "Thank you... I'm sorry. I didn't catch your name. I'm Anne."  
  
Smiling, the man shook my hand and nodded. "It's Xan." Raising his eyebrow, he continued, "If you don't mind my asking, why are you looking for Liz Parker anyway?"  
  
I paused, and took a deep breath. "I'm adopted, and she may be the only key to my past."  
  
Nodding, Xan said to me, "Say no more. I'm adopted too. Good luck, Anne."  
  
I waved to him as I ran out the door. Without thinking about it, I began running east as if I knew I was heading in the right direction. Before I could rethink my plan, I saw the bright colours of a play park looming before me. Pumping my legs harder, I ran to the park with all the energy I had left.  
  
Stepping onto the play sand, I looked around for Kyle Evans. I felt foolish suddenly. It was ridiculous! I had no idea who this man was. I was beginning to realize I had many flaws in my plan.  
  
"Anne Guerin," an elderly voice echoed behind me. Turning, I saw an older man sitting on a bench with a bag of breadcrumbs in his hand. His hair was wispy and silver, and the buttons on his shirt bulged slightly where his stomach rested.  
  
"Please, Anne, sit down," he told me in a soft, grandfatherly voice.  
  
Having a difficult time holding my tears, I asked him if he was Kyle Evans. He nodded his head, and reached out for my hand. Without hesitation, I put my hand in his and sat down beside him.  
  
"You look just like Maria," he whispered. It sounded as if it was difficult for him to speak, but I was too desperate for what he had to tell me to care. He lifted my chin with his finger, and gave a smile. "You're a very pretty girl. You have her chin, and Michael's eyes. So fiery, so passionate – you most definitely have Michael's eyes."  
  
"Michael?" I repeated shakily.  
  
"Your father," he replied. Stunned, I sat with trails of tears on my cheeks.  
  
"You know my father?" I cried. Kyle bowed his head, and squeezed my hand gently.  
  
"I knew your father." The impact hit me between the shoulders, and I literally fell back against the bench. I had always thought it was possible... but now it was for real.  
  
"How did you know my parents? Who is Liz Parker? Where is she?" I demanded, suddenly angry. Why did this man have all the answers and all I was left with was... Michael's eyes? Who and where was this woman that Kal had told me was so awful, so despicable? Why was she the key to everything?  
  
Kyle gave a loud, rustling cough, and I immediately regretted being so forceful. He was giving me answers to everything I've ever wanted to know. He had no reason to do so, and I should have treated him with respect.  
  
"I read everything they said about Liz in the papers," Kyle told me. He patted my knee. "She wasn't the cruel person people thought she was. She was just misguided. Broken." He gave me a sad look. "She had a very tough life."  
  
My feelings for this Liz character began to mix around inside, and I became unsure of what she was to me. With the last of my dignity, I uttered, "She was all I had and she left me."  
  
Kyle shook his head. "She was never with you, Anne. Liz loved you, but she was broken in here." He pointed to his chest. "And she had no room for anything else. But she did love you. We all did."  
  
"You act like she's..." I trailed off, not wanting to make it vocal.  
  
"She is," Kyle confirmed. "But Liz is in a much better place now."  
  
I looked deep into Kyle's eyes, trying to find something that could make me walk away from all this. But I found nothing. So I took his hands in mine, and gave him the only smile I could.  
  
"Please, Kyle, tell me everything. From the beginning. I need to know."  
  
He nodded, and gave my hands a squeeze.  
  
"It all started when a young man loved a young girl..." 


End file.
